


Emblem

by wynnebat



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anal Sex, Dubious Consent, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Memory Alteration, Mind Control, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski, Werewolf Turning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 07:46:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7609684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wynnebat/pseuds/wynnebat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four years after Peter takes control of almost all of Beacon Hills, his last opposition surrenders.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Emblem

**Author's Note:**

> Consent explanation in the end notes. Steer clear if nonconny dubcon & general mindfuckery aren't your thing! Also, please note the M rating; my porn skills are broken.

Text Message  
October 6, 2017  
1:38 PM  
To: Scott McCall, nickname "Traitor"  
From: Stiles Stilinski

    Terms of surrender:  
    1. You let my dad go.  
    2. He, Lydia, Danny, Jordan, Melissa will leave Beacon Hills and never return.  
    3. Peter can do whatever he wants with me.

 

3:08 PM  
To: Stiles Stilinski  
From: Scott McCall

    5 PM. Hale house. Alone.

.

("I can go instead," Lydia had offered. "I'm your second in command."

"It wouldn't be surrender, then."

"It would be close enough."

Stiles shook his head. "You know what he's like. He's... interested. In me. In turning me. I don't know if he'd be that interested in you. And... I can't risk you." Looking around the room, at Lydia, Danny, Jordan, Melissa, he added, "Any of you.")

.

Stiles wore a white t-shirt instead of holding a white flag, and hoped that was enough of an overt surrender for Peter to not kill him on sight. It was an emblem of more than simple surrender; that much was clear with the way the tight shirt settled into Stiles' chest. Stretched and tugged to make it fit, its fabric was nearly see-through. Stiles' nipples, cold and hard from walking from the edge of the forest to the rebuilt Hale mansion in late autumn, created noticeable bumps on his shirt. His jeans weren't his usual old and ratty ones, but a pair of Danny's tight-fitting designer ones. Stiles was dressed to impress, though he doubted Peter would be swayed by his clothes. Peter would do whatever he wished; Stiles' future was mostly out of his control.

In the five minutes he'd been on Hale land—a suicidal action had he not warned them ahead of time—none of Peter's wolves had approached him. He'd texted Scott, the only member of Peter's pack whose phone number he had, and it looked like they hadn't taken offense at him not contacting the alpha instead.

 _Chances of survival up to five percent,_ Stiles thought, almost hysterically, and knocked on the door.

His former best friend opened the door. Scott looked good; there was a healthy glow around him, and he'd been obviously working out. Scott's well-being calmed Stiles before he remembered that they weren't even close to being on the same side, and that Peter's second in command, his first bitten, wasn't going to be any help. Not with the constant control Peter had over his pack's minds.

"Hey, Scott," Stiles said, rocking on his heels awkwardly. "No password for the secret lair?"

"Your message was good enough," Scott replied. "But if you're trying to pull something on my alpha, you should know it won't work."

Stiles shook his head. "I'm giving up."

Having been a werewolf for four years now, the gust of wintery wind that flew past them didn't affect Scott, but goosebumps prickled up from underneath Stiles' skin. "Scared?" Scott asked, raising an eyebrow.

("Scared?" Scott had once asked, raising an eyebrow, Xbox controller in his hands. Stiles had rolled his eyes and said, "Not on your life." Of course, by the rules of the universe, Stiles' character was the one to die first.)

"Yes," Stiles wanted to say. He was fucking terrified, and anyone within range could tell just how fast his heart was trying to jackhammer out of his chest. But his former best friend wouldn't care; he'd probably relish in Stiles' fear. Maybe it was being too harsh, since he knew Scott was being mind-whammied. But Scott had been the one to hold Deaton down as Peter ripped out his throat, and there were some things Stiles couldn't unsee. Instead, he said, "Just cold. Can I come in?"

"Alpha?" Scott asked, cocking his ear slightly toward the ceiling. He must've heard an acceptance, because within moments he stepped aside and allowed Stiles to walk inside. "The house is surrounded, both inside and out, so don't bother trying anything. Take the staircase up one floor. Peter's in the first room to the right."

"Thanks," Stiles replied.

"Stiles—" Scott began, in a tone without anger, something Stiles hadn't heard from him in too damn long. "If you're really serious about surrendering to us… I'm glad. I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too," Stiles said, and turned around, accepting Scott's hug.

"Don't be scared. Peter likes you, even if you've been a pain in our side for a while."

"Just your side?" Stiles asked, and continued up the stairs.

Scott was all wrong, like a mirror image of the good friend he used to be; as Stiles strode through the open door of what seemed to be a luxurious upstairs study, he noted that Peter hadn't changed at all. He wasn't the same man in hospital clothes from his freshman year—four years had brought him an expensive, tailored dark suit—but inside, he was just as wrong to the core as the man who'd gone on a murdering spree. These days, he just hid his crazy better, what with being a respected member of the community now.

Peter Hale, the man who'd awoken miraculously from a six-year coma and begun bringing together the remnants of his tattered family. The man who'd reconstructed the Hale house, invested in floundering Beacon Hills businesses, cleared the preserve of trash and rot that had built up over the years and added safe jogging trails, and donated enough to the hospital that had taken care of him to send everyone atwitter. The man who had Stiles' battered father tied to a chair across from the leather couch he was sprawled across.

John struggled upon seeing him, but bound and gagged thoroughly, and weakened from weeks of captivity, he couldn't do much. Seeing him there hardened Stiles' resolve. He had a task to complete.

"Stiles. I'm pleased you've finally accepted my invitation." Peter's lips curled up in something that resembled a smile. "You skipped the housewarming, but I suppose I'll forgive you for choosing to blow up my warehouse instead."

"The past is a foreign country," Stiles said, agreeably. He'd spent weeks kindling Peter's anger, trying to force his hand. There wasn't any fight left to fight. But his heart thumped with adrenaline, unable to still. "Are you going to honor the agreement?"

Peter shifted his legs from the couch and motioned with a lazy flick of a claw. Stiles sat.

"What will you do if I don't?"

"Why don't you find out?" Stiles asked, tightly.

"That's quite alright. I prefer solving my problems peacefully."

"By mind control, you mean."

"There's very little blood involved." Tilting his head toward the door, Peter said, "Scott. Untie our guest."

Scott did as he was told without a word, cutting through the bindings and the gag. He left John sitting on the chair and took a place in the doorway, standing with his arms crossed and evaluating the scene. Stiles had no doubt that if he tried something, Peter wouldn't need to move a muscle. He'd caught a glimpse of Derek downstairs and Jackson and Isaac were usually within shouting distance of Scott. Peter's inner circle was dedicated and deadly. The other people he'd gotten to numbered upwards of a hundred, and the rest of Beacon Hills would be happy to help out a central figure in their community.

Stiles stared at his father like a man starving. "Hey, dad."

"Stiles," John croaked. "I told you—"

"I love you," Stiles cut in. "Wasn't ever going to do anything else." His resolve was clear on his face; it didn't change in the face of John's anguish.

"Son—" His words were cut off by Scott's replacement of the gag, but Stiles nodded. He knew.

"I'm not fond of emotional displays," Peter explained when Stiles turned his attention back to him. "Now that we've cleared that up—"

"I want to see the back of his neck," Stiles cut in. They'd learned their lessons well.

"Very well."

Years of mind controlled service meant that Peter only had to glace at Scott for him to turn around John's chair so that the back of his neck faced Stiles. Stiles brushed John's hair back from his nape; it was shaggy, dirty. Lydia would fix him up easily, though. The bruises would take weeks to heal—John was covered in them, most of them old, done in the beginning of his abduction, but one on his cheek was new—but being out of Hale territory would help. In minutes, John would be out of the house. In an hour, the rest of the resistance would be gone from Beacon Hills.

Stiles lifted his shirt to check the skin beneath it, running his fingers down his nape to the small of his back. There were no claw marks, healing or otherwise, along John's spine. Stiles returned to his seat.

"You have a deal."

"Excellent."

"The drop off point is Eddy's diner. Leave him on the bench and leave. My friends will pick him up. If any of yours are near the diner when they arrive, the deal is off."

With Peter's nod, Scott helped John up and led him out the door.

 

5:16 PM  
To: Lydia Martin, nickname "Queen"  
From: Stiles Stilinski

    Incoming.

 

5:16 PM  
To: Stiles Stilinski, nickname "Alpha"  
From: Lydia Martin

    We're waiting.

 

Now alone with Peter, Stiles resisted the urge to fidget. He'd done all he could. Whether Peter kept their deal and delivered John to Stiles' friends wasn't something he could impact. Stiles settled into the couch, leaning into it tiredly. It had been a long few weeks since John had been taken. They'd had members of the resistance abducted before, but they'd either been able to fight to get them back, or they hadn't gotten them back at all. John was different; he was the most important bargaining tool Peter could've abducted: the resistance leader's father. If Peter had killed him, Stiles would never stopped. Never surrendered. He would've found a way to bring Peter down with him. This, though.

"We could've been on the same side, you and I," Peter mused after a long while of sitting in silence. "I offered you the bite."

"After mauling Lydia. And then you got your claws in Derek, kidnapped Scott, killed Kate and Allison, and left me to die. Being on the same side as you would've been the worst thing to ever happen to me."

"Don't worry, you have a second chance."

Stiles' phone vibrated. He picked it up.

 

5:24 PM  
To: Stiles Stilinski, nickname "Alpha"  
From: Danny Mahealani

    We have him. Super-ultra-secret passcode: emblem.

 

(5:25 PM  
To: Stiles Stilinski, nickname "Alpha"  
From: Danny Mahealani

    Fuck, Stiles, please don't die.

Status: unread.)

 

A wave of relief washed through him. His friends and father were safe; the human pack he'd somehow made along the way had made it out alive. Out there, Lydia and Danny had magic and a high chance of escaping any member of Peter's pack that could come after them. Stiles had armed them with half the Argent armory he'd looted and dozens of hex bags. Pursuing them would mean suicide for any werewolf. And Stiles held the attention of their biggest threat.

Stiles knew could've run, instead. His father would've preferred it. But he wouldn't have been able to look at himself in the mirror without thinking, _coward_ , and the word would've stripped any hope that fleeing gave him.

But Stiles wouldn't have to worry about his father anymore. Not that he would be able to for much longer.

"They have him," Stiles said, needlessly. His heartbeat had probably told Peter all he needed to know.

"Then you're mine. I doubt what I want from you is a surprise."

Stiles met his gaze head-on. Behind that darkness was passion, lust, and Stiles was no longer a high school boy. "I've known what you wanted for years."

He hoped to god and any deity out there that Peter hadn't given John any idea of what he'd like to do to Stiles. It wouldn't change anything, but Stiles would be able to breathe easier these next hours if his father had no idea how screwed Stiles really was.

"A pity you never attempted a honeytrap." Peter took the phone from Stiles and crushed it in one hand. "You would've been magnificent."

"You wouldn't have ever believed me."

"I would've liked to," Peter replied, throwing the remains of the phone onto the floor. "Your body, your magic, and all I had to do was kidnap your father. I should've done this years ago. Stand up. Strip."

Not bothering to try to appeal to Peter's better nature—he didn't have one—Stiles did as he was told. He shimmied out of his tshirt. Stiles' tell-tale mountain ash tattoos were missing, leaving the skin on his arms pale and marred with the occasional scar. It had been years since any of the resistance had been able to get proper medical care; Peter had eyes everywhere, and werewolf battles weren't easy on humans. The longest scar was from a year and a half into Scott's life as a werewolf. He'd tried to convince Scott to come back to their side, hoping that a decade's friendship could somehow overcome Peter's mental control. He didn't bother trying again.

He pulled his jeans and boxers down in one motion, kicking them in a pile with his shirt.

Stiles snorted at Peter's darkening gaze. "Really? Skinny, scarred twenty year olds are your thing?"

"You really much work on your self-esteem." Peter stood up and stepped beside him. He trailed a finger along the line of Stiles' shoulders. "Scars don't suit you, but they'll be gone shortly. And for now... they're a reminder of the many times I almost had you." Peter's finger trailed down to circle Stiles' nipple. He pinched, starting lightly, his touch gentler than Stiles would've expected. "I don't need to hurt you," Peter said, answering the unasked question. "You can make this very easy for yourself. I know you're attracted to me."

"I hate you," Stiles clarified.

"I've never questioned that." Peter's fingers tightened on the nipple.

Stiles' breath caught. He stared into Peter's eyes. "Yeah, you're hot for an evil, insane sociopath. Oh, and rapist, of course."

"You knew what would happen if you came here."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I did: I'd save my father."

"And a few other things." Peter's other hand cupped Stiles' length, and Stiles could feel his heart thumping heavily in his chest.

Fear and lust were actually somehow connected in the human psyche. The first time Derek had manhandled him, Stiles had played it off, then later jerked off, then immediately researched connections between fear and lust. He'd written a paper on it. Finstock would've loved it, but pretty soon mount Peter had erupted, and school hadn't been an option with a furious alpha after him for nearly blowing him up. They'd gotten their GEDs, their little gang, but it had been with a deep ache. Lydia could've been top of their class, and Stiles her salutatorian.

And now, naked in front of the most terrifying man Stiles had ever met, one who had consumed his thoughts for four long years, Stiles couldn't say it was only fear he felt.

Peter was a very attractive man.

In his worst moments, Stiles had thought it was a pity he was a depraved madman. If Peter had just stopped with Kate, if he'd not decided to craft Beacon Hills in his image and create his very own modern-day werewolf kingdom... If, if, if.

Stiles lifted his chin and locked his eyes on Peter's. "Are you going to fuck me or turn me first? I don't have all day."

Peter kissed him, shallowly, with just the barest hint of fang. "I've found turning a human in the middle of a fuck works best," he said, after releasing Stiles. "If I time it right—and I've done this quite a few times now—and take control while the turn takes, it makes the subject very… pliable."

Stiles curled his lip, because the alternative was to flinch.

Peter patted his ass. "Off you go. My bedroom is the second door to the right. Wait for me on the bed, on your hands and knees. I have a few things to discuss with Scott."

"If you go back on our deal, I _will_ find a way to destroy you."

"Not everything is about you," Peter replied, and pushed him towards the door.

Stiles passed Scott, who gave him a friendly grin on his way out. At the top of the stairs stood Erica Reyes, leaning casually against the wall and leering at him. Stiles remembered her a little from school. She'd been shy, kind, epileptic. She was none of those now.

He turned around. Stiles still felt her gaze—on his ass, he had no doubt—but it wasn't as heavy as Peter's.

Peter's bedroom wasn't as much as a dark, dank lair as Stiles might've expected. Only the carpet was a deep gray; the walls were white, the bedding a dark blue. There wasn't a single photo frame on the dresser, nor personal affects outside a bottle of lube, a book, and a couple pens on the nightstand. Stiles moved to pick it up, becoming more curious when he saw sheets of paper pushed under the cover, but a hand covered his and pressed the book back down.

"You may read it as often as you like after your turning," Peter said, his voice close to Stiles' ear, his body warm against Stiles' back.

"You're overconfident."

"I've just received news that this county is now mine. Rafael really is good at his job. And now, it's only a couple meetings until I have the state. I believe my confidence is well-earned." With every word, Peter's lips drew closer, until he twisted Stiles' head to face him, and kissed Stiles.

It was something. Warmth, hunger, power. The urge to retch. The urge to give in to how good it could be, because there were worse things. Not many, but some. He wondered if this would be easier if he wasn't attracted to men, or if Peter were atrociously ugly.

Stiles' kiss was half-sneer. He couldn't even help it, no matter how hard Peter's grip became.

He'd had kissed Lydia a month ago. It had been a long-held dream, but when they'd actually done it... Well, he and dream-Lydia'd had a lot more chemistry. Before her had been Danny, in a one-time "holy shit we're alive" fuck. Before him, a couple others. He was twenty years old; he couldn't party, couldn't afford to cloud his mind with alcohol, couldn't do so many of the things his peers might do, but sex was easy. Intimacy was a comfort in the madness that was his life. Peter couldn't take everything; he'd never be his first. He'd never be the one Stiles actually chose. He'd be tonight, and afterwards, it wouldn't be Stiles Stilinski in Peter's bed. It would be whoever Peter made him into. And that man wouldn't have doubts, or regrets, or the pinpricks of tears in his eyes.

"I won't be the person you want when you take control," Stiles whispered, when Peter pulled himself away, an inch of space between their mouths. It wasn't a plea, not exactly. Stiles had come to the Hale manor with eyes wide open. But… "Whoever he'll be, he'll adore you like the rest of your pack, he'll fuck you and love you, and he won't have any of me left inside him."

Peter's cheek twitched into something that wasn't a smirk, and wasn't a smile. He said, "I know," and kissed him again. He took his clothes off through the kiss, ending it and beginning it again when he had to pull away. Stiles hated him. He kissed him back anyway.

Peter pushed him onto the bed, skin meeting skin, looking almost like a man instead of a monster.

"Any last words?" he offered.

"I've already had them with my friends," Stiles replied, and reached for the bottle of lube.

None of it was new; Stiles had done this script before. A warm body atop his, a moan he couldn't quite suppress, the building of pleasure as the man fucked him well. It would've been easy to forget where he was, if it wasn't for Peter's strong grip on his arms, and the fact that Stiles couldn't tell him to just be less rough, to just not. Peter's orgasm almost came as a surprise; his bite didn't, his fangs elongating and tearing into Stiles' skin. Stiles screamed, and kept screaming as Peter turned him over and pressed his claws in on the other side.

And then, abruptly, he stopped.

For a moment, he could feel the bond between them snapping into place, and then there was nothing. Peter's will was his own.

For the first time in Stiles' life, his mind was finally, wonderfully quiet.

"Alpha," Stiles breathed, the tenseness vanishing from his body. He could still feel the pain from his wounds, but it was faint, easy to bear when it came from his alpha.

His alpha rolled him over, and they lay on their sides, facing each other. Peter really was handsome, Stiles thought, able to appreciate the man so much easier now. There were reasons why he shouldn't, he knew, but they didn't apply anymore. He had a new pack, a new alpha.

"Where are the rest of your friends?" Peter asked, taking Stiles' hand in his.

Stiles didn't deserve the closeness. "I don't know, alpha. I wasn't supposed to know in case you asked. I'm sorry. For so much. I did things. I ruined deals for you, I raided your largest cache of money, I… I betrayed you."

Peter only kissed him, softly, with no hint of anger. "You won't, ever again." He released Stiles, but only to cup his jaw. "You could've been with me from the start," Peter murmured, resting his forehead on Stiles'. 

"I'm here now. I promise, alpha," Stiles said, and he hoped his alpha could see it as the utter truth. He wasn't that man anymore.

There was something strange in his alpha's eyes, but it vanished in the moment as Stiles kissed it away. They fell asleep together, curled as closely as they could. After four long years on the run, doing what he'd thought was best, Stiles realized he'd finally found peace.

.

("If we go this route, I think I can make sure you keep your magic. But it's risky," Lydia had said, two weeks ago. "If I'm right, if this works, it could _maybe_ survive a turning. It wouldn't come back immediately, but you would know within a day, maybe less."

"And heal me?"

"If it sees the mind control as something to heal. If it doesn't, we'll be giving Peter the greatest weapon he could have: a wolf-mage."

"He won't. I'll make sure of it. Fire with fire, right? And if this works, I'll have access to his pack bonds from within. I could turn them against him; I could disintegrate them. If he doesn't have the power of his betas… We could finally win."

"Do you want to bet your sanity on it?"

"Yeah, I do," Stiles said, picking up their gang's own set of alpha claws.)

.

Stiles smiled, all teeth.

Text Message  
October 12, 2017  
9:08 AM  
To: Jordan Parrish, nickname "Mall Cop"  
From: Stiles Stilinski

    I'm in.

**Author's Note:**

> Consent explanation: Stiles trades himself for John with the knowledge that Peter wants to fuck him, turn him, and add him to his mind-controlled pack. However, it's implied that Stiles may have had another way of getting John out, but took this gamble anyway because it had a chance of bringing down Peter once and for all. He altered his own memories to ensure he wouldn't give his plan away if he was still under the mind control. 
> 
> From Peter's POV, this is rape, but he's also implied to have actual feelings for Stiles, twisted by insanity and power.
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Complete; no sequel planned.


End file.
